Tightrope
by Velourianisms
Summary: Undertaker likes a good surprise. But when Grell appears in his parlour deadly injured, things take quite the dramatic turn and now he has to look after the other. Will he be able to help the redhead?
1. Chapter 1

The sky was darker than usual. For most it was a day lost, the drops of water falling from the sky chasing people away from the streets of London. Life seemed to cease if only for a couple of hours, the silence so deafening it threatened to drive a man insane.

The perfect day for a burial indeed. Undertaker didn't seem to notice his black cloak getting soaked, silver strands of hair dancing almost wildly when the wind whipped around him. Black boots covered in dirt and mud made his task a bit more complicated to finish, but the Shinigami didn't dare to use any other means to shovel the dirt and bury the coffin six feet under.

Dead people deserved to be honoured one last time, after all. It was something he had learned after leaving his old life behind. For entities who had taken their own lives while human, Shinigamis didn't seem to dwell too much on Death.

 _Ironic, truly._

"My my, it looks like it's almost time," he whispered to himself after placing the coffin into the earth, looking up at the sky as it rumbled in the distance. Finishing with a bit of haste he rolled his sleeves down and fixed his hat, dragging the filthy shovel behind him. A wide grin seemed to be carved onto his face, and while his bangs covered the upper half of his face it wasn't completely crazy to assume his eyes were twinkling as well. "I'd hate to keep my guests waiting for long, don't you agree my dears?" He mused out loud, his thumb caressing over the lockets around his hips.

As perfect as this day had been, he had many coffins with people yet to be treated.

Life, such a fragile thing.

But, if his experiments proved to be successful... he let out a silly giggle, already imagining the endless possibilities. Just a while longer, and maybe... maybe he'd be able to see them again.

With that thought in mind he opened the door to his small business, green-yellow eyes adjusting to the darkness rather quickly. His eyesight was not perfect by any means as he had given up his glasses upon deserting, so when he finally managed to stop the feminine silhouette right in the middle of the room his eyes widened just a bit.

 _A familiar frame, that one..._

Thunder struck and the floor shook, the older Shinigami holding onto the doorframe tightly. Before him a pair of eyes identical to his own positively glowed in the dark, and Undertaker had to squint a bit while taking a slow step forward. Not that the other represented a threat to him, honestly— he was strong enough to get rid of him easily.

But something told him the situation was different.

It wasn't the Dispatch trying to take him away.

This Shinigami reeked of Death. Was he...

"So shameful... of a lady..." the other whispered and their knees collapsed beneath their weight, the loud clank of a Death Scythe hitting the floor, "to look like... like..."

Lightning illuminated the sky and Undertaker finally recognized who the Shinigami was.

"Grell?"

The redhead's face was covered with bruises and there was blood gushing from a cut along his-her face. There was a familiar stench, one that always lingered around his parlor whenever Earl Phantomhive stopped for information.

The smell of a demon. But this... it wasn't Sebastian.

It was someone, or something, downright insane.

"...Help..." Grell choked and fell to the floor, her red locks sprawled all over the cold surface. Undertaker rushed to her side after slamming the door shut— as urgent as it may possibly be, it was better to be away from prying eyes. Especially if a demon was on the loose. The silver-haired man scooped the other into his arms and realized to his vague horror the wound on her forehead was not the only one who needed urgent treatment. Her clothes were soaked in blood, and by the way her face seemed to pale he didn't have time to spare.

"My, just look at you... that demon should've known better than hurt a lady like you like that," Undertaker whispered to no one in particular since Grell was unconscious, walking to the back room and placing the Shinigami on the table he used to study his corpses. Being careful with her red coat— garment she seemed to value more than her own life— he quickly discarded her clothes and began to work after washing his hands thoroughly. He was genuinely worried. Grell was maybe the only one Undertaker liked aside from Sebastian because admittedly, the demon made him laugh like none other. Unlike William, Ronald, and the rest of the Shinigamis, Grell's playfulness and sass was endearing to the other.

Maybe that was the reason he refused to let her die. Of course, aside from the fact the parlour would be packed with units of Shinigamis as protocol indicated if she were to die.

Undertaker tried to not think about that for the time being.

"This will hurt a bit, I do apologize," he whispered to himself, all traces of madness gone. and bangs slicked back he began to work, making sure to clean every single wound adorning the fragile-looking body. Undertaker knew better than to mistake Grell for a defenseless maiden, though— despite being disliked by most reapers and not paying enough attention to her paperwork, Grell Sutcliff was a prodigy. It was almost as if she had been born to become a reaper.

As ironic as that was, of course. The thought made Undertaker smile wryly, careful to stitch a particularly nasty cut across her cherry lips.

Fucking demon. William would most likely give the entire Dispatch overtime until the demon was found and terminated. That is, assuming Ciel Phantomhive and his butler Sebastian didn't interfere in otherworldly matters. Upper Management would not be so forgiving.

Not that the lot of them mattered. None of them truly cared about Grell, and he was pretty sure some of them would be relieved to have the redhead gone. The mere thought made him grind his teeth in anger.

Being a Legendary Reaper that had been forced to fight during the War, Undertaker valued the lives of his kind. The younger ones didn't know what it was like to lose hundreds and not even being able to bury them and pay their respects.

"My my, I'm losing my train of thought here," the Shinigami shook his head and took a step back once he was finished to admire his work, thinking rather absently that it could very well be his best to date. But this time his pride was overshadowed by the overwhelming worry in his chest. It didn't look for Grell, at all... wounds produced by demons that far gone were the slowest to heal and the most painful to treat. The redhead was in for a long recovery. And by the state of her arms and hands, working was simply out of the question.

Losing himself in his troubled thoughts, Undertaker stood right there for the rest of the night as if completely oblivious to the fact the sky outside was turning a light shade of gray. He was fully aware of the stench clinging to his clothes and he decided to take a bath before checking the state of Grell's wounds. Making sure to not take more time than necessary, the silver-haired man returned to the back room dresses in garments identical to the ones he had worn the day before, black leather boots going all the way up to his knees. Messy bangs clipped back, he decided to leave his gray scarf in his room, knowing there were no funerals for that day. This time he grabbed a very old chair and seated himself right next to the hospital-like bed, one leg crossed over the other while he waited.

And waited.

 _And waited._

It seemed than after an eternity of waiting, Grell stirred in her sleep and slowly opened her bright eyes, mouth parting to let a pitiful whimper. Undertaker stood up in no time and gently hushed the other, gently placing his hand on her bare shoulder and pursing his lips tightly when she flinched and tried to move away. She looked terrified, as if in a trance. Obviously disoriented, Grell tried to escape, ignoring the tug at her stitches.

"M'dear," he said ever so softly, not daring to let go of her shoulder in fear she might hurt herself. "You're safe now, right in my parlour. Appeared right out of nowhere all covered in blood, my lady." Grell seemed to slowly come to her senses after recognizing the presence next to her was no threat and finally dared to look up at Undertaker.

Only then he realized her glasses were cracked.

"Under—" Grell's hand shot up to cling onto his shirt and not in a flirty way— she doubled over and gasped in pain, the action only producing more pain. Her body felt like it was on fire, torturing her in the worst way imaginable. "Aah...!"

"Do try to take it easy darlin', your body is in bad shape at the time being. M'afraid I can't do anything to ease the pain," he said almost sadly, letting the other hold onto him for dear life. After a bit he tried to make her lay down, grabbing a blanket and covering her body with it. "I do apologize for touchin' a maiden's body in such an unbecoming manner but I couldn't... shall we say, ask you at the time bein'." Undertaker tried to offer a smile, and Grell actually managed to smirk a bit despite the pain.

"Are you sure this is not your fault after a long night of passio— oh, bollocks..." she ended up gasping, tears forming in the corner of her eyes when the pain returned full force. While her pain resistance was higher than most, that blasted demon had played with her like a rabid dog attacking a rag doll.

Grell felt completely ruined and it killed her.

Undertaker's smile faded a bit and he slowly scooped her in his arms, just like the night before— and exactly like last night, there was not a sassy comment about his actions as Grell was too lost in her pain to even register what was happening. "Perhaps we should let you rest in a more comfortable bed, m'lady..." He gently kicked the door to his own room with the tip of his boot and walked to the surprisingly big bed, laying her down and fussing over her for a bit, making sure no stitches were making her bleed. The bandages could hold up for a while longer so he decided to let her get comfortable. Grell's breathing was shallow and tears were now running down her makeup-free cheeks, but she didn't give a damn at the moment.

"Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop..! _Please!_ " She begged, barely biting back sobs. Her eyes followed Undertaker as he knelt next to her and traced a finger down her tear-stained cheek, not daring to touch anywhere else after carrying her to his room. Her body was suffering already, after all. Looking positively heartbroken, the older Shinigami sighed and shook his head.

"I'm sorry... I've done everything I can, Grell," he said softly, not looking at her in the eye as self-hatred settled in the pit of his stomach. "I'm sorr—"

Grell closed her eyes and let out a heart-wrenching sob, not wanting to look at her body. After calming down to think coherently, she looked at Undertaker from the corner of her eye, not wanting to abuse the stitching on her neck that was healing slowly. The pain... it didn't seem to fade in the slightest.

"... Stay," she mumbled, eyes half-lidded as the crying had left her exhausted. He looked into those eyes exactly like his own and nodded, not saying another word.

He'd stay there for as long as she wanted. That was the only thing he could do.

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Hey guys, hope you liked the first chapter! Please let me know if you did, and I'll be posting whwenever I possibly can! Hopefully I'll get some reviews by then.


	2. Chapter 2

Undertaker didn't dare to move. Heavens, he was almost _too afraid_ (not that he needed it, mind you) to breathe because Grell's sleep was fragile enough to be woken up by the passerby running down the street as the storm grew exponentially worse. The small drops of water hitting the window relentlessly helped soothe Undertaker's frazzled nerves, and the eternal being sighed to himself.

The ancient shinigami looked at the mug of Earl Grey secures in his hands, an unreadable expression on his face. Had anyone seen him at the moment, they would've been irked by such sight— the usually cheerful, if a bit immature reaper was now eerily quiet, lips pursed into a thin smile and eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

The only thing he could think about was Grell. Grell lying on the floor, Grell almost bleeding to death, Grell looking beautiful even with blood covering her face.

Grell being attacked by a demon.

He sighed and took a sip of the sugary liquid, allowing it to run down his throat in hopes it'd soothe his soul at least a little bit.

No such luck.

The thought of going to the Phantomhive state and let that little piece of information was too tempting— demons were possessive little creatures, and if memory served him right Sebastian was no lesser demon. Alas, he wasn't one to give charity. This was juicy enough to earn him dozens (if not hundreds) of laughs. Then there was the option of going after the piece of scum, but there were more cons than pros. Business would be flowing, but having an annoying Earl and the entire London Dispatch around his territory if he dealt with the demon was something he wasn't interested in.

Another sigh. Just then, he could hear Grell shift and moan in pain from upstairs. Undertaker ran a hand through his hair and walked to his room, staying at the doorframe to look at the lady in his bed. Seeing someone in his bed was a sight he hadn't appreciated in eons— even if the circumstances were clearly different.

Grell's eyes fluttered open, and she looked confused before horror finally settled in. She fumbled around for her glasses, almost smashing them by accident before pushing them up her nose, looking around the room.

"What day is it?!" She demanded harshly, wondering how much of a good idea was to sit on the bed. The pain was still present, and the reaper shifted a bit only to regret it immediately.

"The fifteenth, m'dear," he answered while walking to the bed, placing a steady hand on her shoulder much like he had done the day before. "You were out for an entire day. Not to be surprised, though— wounds made by that kin heal ten times slower. Much like a Death Scythe, if I may say so."

Grell's jaw slacked at that and she looked out the window, red nails digging into the bedsheets until a soft ripping sound was heard. _Two days_. She hadn't reported in two days. She felt like screaming. The redhead had barely escaped the demotion last time, and now there was no way Upper Management would let her stay as a Senior Reaper after this massive fuck up.

"I need to go home, _now_ ," Grell practically hissed, yet she didn't dare to move her legs after the last wave of pain. Undertaker offered a twisted smile, one that revealed more than just a bit of insanity. He moved to sit down on the chair next to the bed while shaking his head, long black nails tapping against his leather-clad knee.

"You can barely walk in this state. I'm positive you can't even make a portal to the Shinigami Realm. And while I may be nice I am no fool, darling. Going to that blasted place would end up with my getting my head cut off and that would be quite troublesome indeed." Grell glared at him, thankful he had seen his face already before this pathetic predicament. The last thing she need was to be all flustered in her presence.

The last time they had seen each other at the Camparia she had almost died and he had left with more questions unanswered than anything else. How he had managed to get his chain back was a mystery. Not that she particularly cared, mind you.

"Then I'll have to drag myself there if I need to," she spat and ignoring the blinding pain, got out of the bed. Her knees shook almost violently, and she had to steady himself with a hand on the headboard. "Will is waiting for me, I need—"

"I didn't know you and young William were romantically involved," Undertaker commented, one gray brow perfectly arched while smiling at the other in amusement.

Grell stopped and averted his gaze, looking embarrassed to say the least.

Romantically involved? Oh, _if only_. William thought of her as a nuisance he had to deal with, and Grell had stopped her pursue after the Director had snapped her glasses in to after hitting her with her scythe. Her heart ached at the memory.

"I won't get fired because a piece of scum tried to turn me into his meal. Management will have my head this time, I just _know_ it," she whispered to herself while dragging her feet to the door, noticing her coat, heels and shirt were missing. Again, instead of making a lewd joke, she kept quiet and managed to cross the threshold, vision turning blurry.

"My, my, you're quite the fighter," he commented, vaguely wondering how was it possible that she could even stand in that state. His brain offered the possibility of her being constantly manhandled, and rage began to bubble deep down.

"You know how this industry is, Undertaker dear. If I don't fight then I'm meat for the vultures," she said airily and turned her head to look at the stairs in trepidation, knowing she wouldn't be able to go down even if her job depended on it.

Undertaker's mood changed rather abruptly and scowled while walking up to her, grabbing her by the wrist and practically throwing her onto the bed. His mouth twitched upon hearing the pained cry, hands curled into fists.

"The demon is still alive?"

"So?" Grell barked, back slightly arched at the intense pain.

"He's close," Undertaker said with an edge to his voice, eyes flashing dangerously. Grell blanched and she shook her head, body shaking so badly it almost seemed she was on the verge of convulsing. "Sorry, my dear, but until you are healed enough to defend yourself you are not going anywhere."

Despite Undertaker's comforting tone, to Grell it was like a death sentence.

She was done for. She only hoped Will didn't appear around the parlor, otherwise she'll seek the demon herself to have a painless death compared to what Spears would do to her.

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My beautiful people, I'm so sorry it took me so long to upload this! I promise to be more constant from now on, and remember... reviews help _a lot._


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